


gemina draco

by Quilly



Series: The Garden of Fate [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Soulmate AU, in which kurloz is the literal worst and latula cannot work with him ever, loosely inspired by Serendipity Gospels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 20:27:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4975378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quilly/pseuds/Quilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Latula Pyrope and Kurloz Makara are on their way to setting up the system that will govern the legislacerators and subjugglators for sweeps to come.</p><p>It would be an easier task if Makara wasn't such an idiot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	gemina draco

**Author's Note:**

> did a huge tumblr soulmate request event about a year ago, finally moving stuff over. AU was matching tattoos declare the soulmate.

Your name is Latula Pyrope and you never expected this. At _all_.

The Grand Highblood wears his arms bare, and snaking around one huge bicep is a strange tattoo that he just _flaunts_ like he doesn’t have a care in the world about what it means. It’s a skeletal dragon, and you only know because you’ve made an intense study of the very same one wrapped around your leg; the grinning skull of his ends just short of his shoulder, while the frowning skull on yours brushes your inner thigh.

You are a professional and keep your eyes off it, keeping your interaction with Kurloz clipped and brief. He smiles lazily down at you and sets your teeth on edge.

Part of the training a legislacerator-subjugglator team receives, according to the committee helping you and Kurloz pull the program together, is an obstacle course to show that both partners are physically fit for duty. The first to test it? You and your new partner.

Kurloz rolls his shoulders and smirks.

“You ready, little sis?”

“Don’t call me that,” you say, very aware your horntips barely reach his shoulder. “Just don’t slow me down.”

Of course, he trips you right at the start line and you bound to catch up, _seething_.

It’s a fairly standard course: spike pit, swinging pendulums, a stand-in Honorable Tyranny to appease or slaughter. You opt for slaughter when it lashes out at you and only manages to rake your leg, tearing your pants and scoring a good gash down the side. You stab it in the eye and have done with it. Kurloz meets you at the finish, eyes flicking over your dirtied uniform and resting on the rip in your pants.

You belatedly realize that it’s the tattooed leg.

The look he gives you is more solemn, calculating. There’s still mirth on his mouth but it’s understated by the thoughtfulness.

You are escorted to the infirmary and get several stitches, but no amount of gauze wrapping and fresh pants can make you feel less examined, less bare. Less _seen_.

(He touches the broken lines of ink with awe, he kisses the skull with tenderness, he growls a laugh when you dig your fingers into his biceps so hard it draws blood—)


End file.
